How did she get my number?

The question had many possible answers; friends, associates, word of mouth, so Jack didn’t give a lot thought to that aspect of the call right away. Besides which, the desperate hollering of the woman had its own distracting effects. Once the necessary information was noted, he cut her off by ending the call. He then pinch-shut his eyes, placed the android with a lackluster fumble on the dashboard, while the thumb of is other hand softly stroked the running mustang at the center of his steering wheel. It was far too early for a call like that.

The horn of the morning ferry to the city soon had his eye sliver open again, squinting against the light of sunrise stretching out like hazy fingers to the scattered red-tone cloud above the distant skyline. It would have been an admirable dawn had his head not been pounding with the reminiscent drums of last night’s abuse. He could almost feel his liver disintegrating. And there it was, the gaping mouth of his departed friend, now just an empty bottle of Russian Standard that he turned in his seat to eyeball on the passenger seat. …No Hair of the Dog salvation this morning.

“Rest in piss….”

The words faded out with his presence of mind. He spent the next thirty minutes nodding in and out of consciousness before his inner voice alerted him of the need to contact his associate. They had a job to do. He started the engine then retrieved his phone from the dash. Not yet in the mood for vocalizing, he scrolled through his longer than desired list of contacts until he reached the name Quinn, opened a text window, and thumbed out the message:



He paused for a moment, blinking to focus through the glaze of eye fluid to assess any typos before hitting Send.

… Message sent.

A minute later the old slate-grey Mustang rumbled as it backed from the harbor-side parking lot to ride off into this new day of hell….

Seems the older one gets the less surprises happen. First Jack is woken by a hysterical woman, and now he’s being relentlessly badgered by his senseless partner. Okay, that was unfair. But really, the battle never ends, the fight even seems to intensify when feeling ill equipped to handle it. It's like spirits were always watching, influencing those around you, making sure you get hammered at the most inopportune time. It wasn't Cam's fault, she was just doing her thing. In the end Jack blamed himself as always, and for good reason, especially in this case. He's the only one to decide on obliterating himself with alcohol on a nightly basis. He makes his own bed to lie in, everyone does. But that doesn't negate the torment that ensues. Besides, Camilla had a point, it was far too early for this shit.

He held still like a man who, though outwardly calm, could clearly be construed as one about to explode at any moment. One hand rested on the gearstick, the other limp on the wheel while he inwardly winced at the words that flooded from her mouth. Of course, it wasn’t as bad as all that, in his condition her words felt more antagonizing than what was intended. But still….

Shut up. Nothing you’ve said will actually change a thing.

Cam finished spouting her mouth, and in that moment of praised silence he sneered, although even the curl of his lip would have appeared to be lacking effort. Opening the door, he stepped out of the car without a word, swayed to find his bearings, then shuffled his way across a patch of lawn, his back to the car as he unzipped the fly of his blue jeans and relieve himself into a nearby hedge. Finished, he made his way back to the car, adjusted the well-warn, brown leather jacket to find moderate comfort in his seat before closing the door and jamming the car in first gear.

“Done bitch’n?” His words were flat as his deadpan look as he reached for the back seat to produce a paper bag that he preceded drop on her lap. In the bag she’d find a bacon and egg McMuffin. “Breakfast of champions.” He tells her, “Get it into ya.” There was also a coffee waiting for her in the cup holder of the center console. In the closing of the only words he had to express, he pulled away from curb and tore off down the street.

To be perfectly clear, Jack didn’t mind Camilla at all. She was a good girl. Sure, she was about as placid as a ship tossed at sea in a hurricane, but for the most part her head was in the right place. More importantly, she did have a way of impressing him. He’d seen it on a few promising occasions; the ability to think coherently in the face of danger. That’s what he needed in a partner, not some hesitant automaton constantly in need of instruction, rather someone who could think for themselves. Think on their feet. Independence took leaps and bounds in this profession. Besides her annoying exuberance - something that defiantly served as an anchor for Jack - she was easy to look at. A little eye candy had its place. Not that it was an essential component, but it certainly helped in some decrepit manner of thinking. Naturally, that wasn’t something he’d care to admit to her, or anyone for that matter. Business was business.

The journey to their destination didn’t take long and Jack held his tongue, listening to anything else Cam had to say, though in all honestly he may not have appeared to be paying any attention. He was like that; never feeling the need to voice his opinion or express any emotional response. Circumstances spoke for themselves. Yet every now and then he tended to voice his own surprise with words that left no doubt of his attentiveness.

---

They arrived at 21 Ashmore Avenue fifteen minutes later and Jack pulled into the driveway. He wouldn’t have seemed at ease to Camilla. Though he always gave the impression of being calm, she would have noticed by the unsettled shifting of his eyes that his suspicion was mounting. Something wasn’t right, but then, when was ever anything right in their profession? In the end, it was just a matter of degree.

He continued to leave the engine run idle while looking Cam up and down, possibly the first time he actually regarded her with any amount of visible interest that day. After what may have deceivingly seemed to be a man checking out the attractive hitchhiker in his passenger seat, he posed the question:

“Look’n to buy?”

His question was clearly intended for Camilla to take note of the residence immediate appearance: A well weathered For Sale sign loomed on the overgrown lawn, while the two story red-brick home didn’t exactly exalt in recent maintenance or upkeep. One of the three ground floor windows had its glass shattered. But there was no screaming woman exiting the front door with arms flailing, no teen peeking from the window snickering on account of the trouble he or she had caused. Jack was beginning to wonder if the house was actually occupied when the roller door to the lock up garage started to open for them. Apparently someone inside was welcoming them… but why the need to have them enter the garage? Jack would have been happy to park on the street for all it mattered.

The roller door to the garage released a loud thud as it finished opening. Inside the garage there was nothing, however. No boxes, no household machinery or tools, no children’s push bike; nothing to indicate that the house was actually occupied. But then again, if the house was up for sale, it was reasonable to assume that most of the packing had been done already. Still, he didn’t drive in because he just didn’t see the point, especially if a quick getaway was going to be needed later. So he cut the engine, secured the handbrake, and regarded Camilla with a Jack-typical raise of one brow.

“I’ve got my Glock. That’ll do me until we’ve assessed the situation. Grab something from the trunk if you feel the need.” He suggested.

Cam already had an extra set of keys to the Mustang. Jack had given them to her a few weeks earlier, since he felt it prudent to keep all things covered in case of emergencies.

They’d get out of the car at this point. Jack would linger by the entrance of the garage further analyzing the situation while awaiting Cam to do whatever she needed to do.

As Camilla already knew, Jack had received a call from some frantic woman not two hours earlier, a call that supposedly originated from this house. But where was this woman now? Cam had no doubt observed that oddity, it would have been hard to miss. Everything was quiet. Still. Not the abode of a woman who had recently lost her son. But In addition to the silence, who in fact opened the damn roller door for them? It must have been remotely activated by a controller inside the house - one would imagine - yet the person who supposedly opened it hadn’t revealed themselves, no less made a peep. Not to mention the fact, and the thing that continued to play most on his mind, was the For Sale sign in the yard. There was no Sold sticker plastered on the front of it, probably meaning it hadn’t been sold yet, and yet the lawn hadn’t been cut in weeks, which didn’t exactly indicate the typical upkeep for someone trying to sell.

Jack’s best guess, despite not being sold, was that the house was empty and the call he received earlier wasn’t actually made from anyone, at least no one who was still alive. This was pure speculation at this point, educated speculation of course, but still speculation. He may have been wrong, and therefore he didn’t share that specific insight with Cam. Increasing the girls fear unduly wasn’t about to help their situation, not even if his hunch proved correct.

He was, as always, curious about Camilla. She was enjoyable to watch and listening to her commentary amused him. Still, his face remained void of expression as she made too much noise on her approach to the door.

“Remind me to get you new shoes.” He said, as she looked back to give him a smile, though his voice was so low and soft that it was barely audible. In jack’s eyes, she seemed to treat everything like a game, despite the possible dangers. Even when she was serious he had a hard time seeing her that way. She was fun. She had a good smile. The whole package was cute in a hazardous kind of way. But he wasn’t about to let his unmentioned affections get in the way of the job at hand and possibly jeopardize their safety. Especially hers.

He followed her inside calmly, slowly, removing his Glock from the belt at his rear while holding up his free index finger in a sign to be quiet.

Inside, he gently gave a tug to the back of her jacket to have her fall back. He took the lead until they arrived to the side of the foot of the stairs. There, he stood and placed one hand on her shoulder, letting her know to keep still. From their position they had a clear view of the main ground-level hallway that led to the kitchen, the stairs, and the living room on their left. Camilla was right, something really did smell. He hadn’t even noticed before now. Then again, women were known to have better noses than men. At least he thought that was the case. He hoped that was the case. Hell, his mother had the nose of bear on heat. The problem of course was that the smell of sulfur didn’t fit with what he actually suspected to be the trouble with this place.

Removing the hand from her shoulder, his fingers slid gently down Cam’s back and came to rest on the curved summit of her buttocks, but he was actually too absorbed in stretching his hearing and scrutinizing every detail of their surrounds to be aware of where his hand actually came to rest.

A cold chill ran his spine.

“Anyone home!?”

Without warning, Jack had finally exerted himself, sharply calling out the words that proceeded to echo in an unnatural cascade of repetition that eventually concentrated their roll directly down the hallway and fell silent at the entrance to the kitchen… where a middle-aged woman now stood staring at them from the threshold. The woman was pale. Bare foot. Dressed in a thin, white nightgown. Dark rings under her glazed eyes. Her hair hadn’t received a touch of attention in what appeared to be decades. Jack was staring back at the woman for no less than a couple of seconds before she suddenly burst into action –

The foundation of the house convulsed hard enough for both Jack and Cam to falter when the woman charged at inhuman speed directly toward them, her arms flailing madly while screaming in a voice that sounded like grating metal: “GIVE ME BACK MY SON!”

Jack’s automatic reaction was to shove Cam from the woman’s path, which he did, but barely had time to raise his gun before the woman arrived. He was lifted off his feet by her presence and launched clear through the air until crashing out the front door and tumbling across the lawn. The woman, however, had come to an abrupt halt where Jack had been standing, then shifted her empty glare down at Camilla before vanishing.

Out on the lawn, just a few feet from the For Sale sign, Jack twitched a few times before finding the strength to lift his face from the earth.

“I guess that explains why the house is still on the market.”

“Fine.” Was the only response to Cam’s concern for his welfare as he pushed to his knees by her, sitting back on his heels with hands open on his thighs. His gun was now next to him, bedded in the bends of long grass. He looked around in that position like a man resting on the beach and surveying the waves rolling in from the vast ocean beyond. In a short while, his eyes came back to Cam. He didn’t ask if she was okay, but the search of his eyes over her person would have made it clear to her that he was, in fact, making sure she was fine. She was. A little shaken up, but fine. There was then a following moment of, well, something that may have come across to Cam as not so typical for Jack. He raised one hand from his lap, reaching out to briefly caress her cheek, push a fall of hair back over her ear, then ended the moment by returning his hand to his lap.

“What is it with girls and pretty boys? You need a man, not a boy.” It wasn’t like he was propositioning himself, his words sounded more like a non-affectionate father giving his daughter some general, though questionable and rather fleeting advice. That being the case, his mind was back on the job. Reaching for his gun he returned it to his belt and shook his head like someone slightly bothered by a passing fly.

“This is no demon.” He told her, then got to his feet while giving the situation further thought. “I was thinking it may have been a restless ghost.” He added, giving himself a light dust off. “Something simple. A dead woman needing closure before moving on. But it’s not that either….” He curled his lip while peering into the house through shattered hangs of what was left of the front door. “I’m not sure what that was.” Then, after all that had transpired since the question was asked, he answered: “They’re too loud. You can’t sneak up on anything with those things on your feet. Save em for your date.”

Jack then starts walking to the car. Apparently he wasn’t planning on re-entering the house so soon either. “We’re going back to your place. Use those internet skills of yours to do some research on this place.” He paused before entering the car. “You got beer?”

Telling Cam that he was fine may have been a little stray of the truth. Truth be told, he was in a considerable amount of pain. Yeah, being thrown through a door like a rag doll was sure to do some damage. He didn’t expect anything serious or broken. After all, he could walk, talk and think normally, but he was damn certain a few ribs had been bruised at least. He wasn’t worried though, the pain would pass, and no doubt the alcohol in his system was inhibiting a lot of pain receptors at the moment. Besides, there were other things on his mind than thinking about his health right now:

Jack’s hopes for encountering a woman that had lost her son in the same or similar way to how he had lost his own family had fallen through. The circumstances surrounding the current situation just didn’t fit. The monster he was seeking would have to keep in hiding for another day. He also knew that all the salt-loaded shells and blessed bullets in the world may not have any effect on the entity that inhabited this house. It wasn’t a demon. It wasn’t a ghost. At least nothing standard of the two. Not even a hex, enchantment, heptagram, or even a prayer would work unless they knew exactly what they were dealing with. In the end Cam was right about another thing, harming the host, or whatever that was, may not have been the best course of action.

If Camilla were willing to go along with Jack’s new plan, they would now get in the car and head back to her place. His own place wasn’t actually an option. As for libraries, well, they tend to make Jack feel uncomfortable. Cam may not have been aware of the fact at that time, since he wasn’t one for complaining about his personal circumstances, but Jack didn’t actually have a place to live at present. His car would hold him over for now, and it wasn’t really a matter that troubled him. Still, the open duffel bag of packed clothes and personal items sprawled out on the back seat, including the unframed photo of his late wife and young daughter, may have been enough for the woman to work it out on her own.

"you’re a little on the old side anyway.”?

"Hmm..." Jack narrowed one eye before entering the car with her. His peripheral sight caught her eyeballing the items of the back seat. He should really learn to put shit away after a night of brooding. Cam had her own shit to deal with, she didn’t need to be reminded of his as well. The girl had class though. She knew when not to pry, as opposed to most people who felt the need to offer support for no other reason but to make themselves look virtuous. There was very little holy in this world.

Once they had parked, Jack remained behind the wheel for a minute and made a call to an acquaintance that Cam hadn’t yet met. Well, at least he thought she did’t know this person. The call was short, no shooting the breeze, and he soon joined Cam inside. He accepted the beer with a nod then rummaged through a few cabinets until he actually found some Motrin. He didn’t ask permission to go searching for it, but Cam didn’t strike him as a person who really cared for uptight formalities. ‘Help yourself’ the two golden words of prestige in his books.

The four pills were washed down with half the stubby of beer before he took the chair from the desk, gave it a quick twirl in his fingers, positioned it a comfortable distance from the bed, and then took a seat in it back-to-front, arms propped on the backrest, beer bottle dangling in his fingers. His ribs hurt like hell, but he didn’t let it show.

To Jack, Cam was the lie-like-a-dog type of girl, for lack of better ways to explain it. That free spirit, not even giving mind to her own sensuality in the many rough and perhaps less than lady-like performances - Swatting her ass in to dust herself off, her unrelenting jests, that cheeky smile, the overall absence of traditional female discretion - yet managed to keep her femininity intact. It was refreshing to watch. Appealing to his base urges. No broomstick up her ass.

“Look at me and tell me you think it’s a demon we’re dealing with.” He said, with a shake of his head, and limply dropped back a few more mouthfuls of beer. “We both know it isn’t that. Demons are filthy. Vermin. They don’t give two shits about human values…. They don’t care if some woman lost her son. This situation’s too random. And hey, whatever it is, managed to get my number. Beasts making phone calls... go figure.”

Jack let his eyes wonder about the apartment for a time, not really thinking about what he was looking at, rather taking a moment to assess his own thoughts on recent events. It was possible that this thing they encountered was a hostile ghost, allowing it more power than your standard spirit. He’d seen it before, enraged souls of the departed summoning more strength than your standard haunts. But this one didn’t quite fit that bill. Too much specified power.

“I’m waiting on a call.” He added, lifting his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and tossing it on the bed beside Camilla. “Put it on speaker when she calls and take note of her number. You might need it in the future. Her name's Bobby. She knows you're with me. She does a few jobs for me from time to time. Right now she’s looking into the history of the house. That should help us -”

Jack winced, grinding his teeth from the pain in his ribs that suddenly decided to give a quick, cold stab through his chest.

He hung his head and sighed, regretting to let his pain known to Cam, before rolling his eyes back up at hers with an ‘I’m fine’ kind of grin.

“Fucking monsters….”

Had Camilla been looking at the right place, she would notice a small spread of blood staining the side of Jack’s t-shirt inside the fall of his jacket. He didn’t even acknowledge the damage himself. While being thrown through the door earlier, a shard of timber had pierced the flesh on the left side of his torso, just a few inches lower than his pectoral cleft.

Jack was aware Cam didn’t always agree with him on these things, and he knew her well enough at this point to realize she had her objection to his thoughts on just what they had encountered at the house. By the same token, she didn’t really need to voice her objections, he took note them anyway. But her quiet restraint on the matter wasn’t the only thing he took note of….

Perhaps it came with the occupation. The life of a hunter had its way of fine tuning ones senses. The need to be on guard on a daily basis will have that effect. Jack had always been that way to a point though, picking up on more than expected of a man, but maybe his line of work helped amplify the gift somewhat.

No, it wasn’t fun having to sleep with one eye open, waking from the slightest sound or looking over your shoulder at every turn, but it was helpful to pick up on the less regarded aspects of things taking place around you. Like Cam’s look, for example, the one she drifted with for that moment before he drew the phone from his pocket. Jack had seen it a hundred times before from women, that slightly dreamed gaze of wondering if maybe… just maybe…. To be fair, he didn’t get that a lot from Cam, he could count those moments from her on one hand and still have a few fingers left to count with. But that didn’t really account for much in the broad scheme of things - when you get two people of opposite sex in a room alone, it’s nothing less than natural for the prospect to cross their minds. And really, Camilla was an overall great package, any man would have been lucky to have her. Jack would be lying to think he didn’t feel the appeal. On more than one occasion he’d been tempted to bend her over the nearest bench and give it to her. Simple as that. Still, he wouldn’t be the one to initiate. If she wanted to, the first move was on her.

“It’s just a scratch.” It wouldn’t have been fitting for Jack to respond in any other way, so her ignoring the comment while walking to the bathroom didn’t come as any surprise.

It wasn’t really a lie. The internal damage hurt much more than the cut did, though he had his suspicions a lot of the pain had been dulled by the amount alcohol he’d ingested over the last 24 hours. Truth was, he didn’t really want to look at it, as ignoring wounds that didn’t feel life threatening had become a habit, and in time he would get around to tending to it himself. But right now he had more to consider than himself. Camilla was there and she had a conscience. It wasn’t like she owed him anything, he would have done the same for anyone standing next to him at the time of the event, a fact that didn’t however negate her need for recompense. He was aware of the unwritten code of loyalty between partners and in her position he’d be feeling the need to extend the hand of appreciation as well. Far be it for him to deny her that.

When she returned from the bathroom he let out an appropriate sigh to state his reluctance, yet pushed from his chair regardless, nudged it aside with his foot, and then placed his bottle on the bedside table next to hers.

“You should know you don’t owe me anything.” He said turning back to her, giving a short shake of his head with a low furrow of his brow, and noticed the gauze packet being crushed by the angst of her grip. Producing a minor howler look, he shrugged the jacket to the floor and kicked it aside as well, then regarded the woman with approbation. “I don’t have any complains about you. If I thought you were lacking I wouldn’t be working with you. You’re good. Real good.”

With the jacket off, Jack kicked his boots free before peeling up his T-shirt for a better look at the damage, and okay, it was a little worse than he thought. Above the naturally solid plate of abdominal muscles and in the shade beneath his pectoral ascent, a thin splinter of wood could be seen protruding, causing the flesh to swell parallel with his rib.

“Well that’s fucked up.” He almost sounded like he was joking while pulling the T-shirt clear from his head. But he didn’t discard it, instead rolling it over one hand in preparation. Without hesitation he removed the splinter and tossed in the wastebasket next the bedside table while using the shirt wrapped around his other hand to press down on the wound. Keeping the pressure on, he removed the Glock from his belt with his free hand, placed it next to the beer bottles, then dropped back on the bed in a casual manner, feet crossed, shoulders and head propped against the wall and pillow. He gave her a wink, one corner of his mouth cracking with a stunted smile.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

Jack didn’t say any more while Cam tended to his wound. In a way she reminded him of his wife, not so much by the dialogue as the tone she used. That voice of disapproval. It was sweet. He watched her. Admiring her. He moaned almost pleasurably, though clenching his jaw, nostrils flared with an outshot of breath when she applied the solution that trickled down to the bed sheets, mingled with his blood.

“Thanks.” Was the only word of gratitude he could muster as she spun about to lie beside him.

He shifted down, his head now on the pillow. He heard the small, moist clip of her yawn but kept eyes on the ceiling as the room fell silent. There seemed to be a thickness in the air, maybe the discomfort brought on by the passive tension between himself and Cam, or maybe there was some uncertain source to the heavy calm. Though the silence ruptured when Jack, in a low, monotone voice that came close to a whisper, started talking:

“It was uh… late. Near midnight. My little girl, Hannah…. Eight year old. Last time I checked she was in her bed. Sleep’n. I was in the lounge. Television on. Heard the screams from outside. …Somehow she was there now…. Don’t know how. Why. She was in the pool. Those screams… water splash’n…. So many screams. Thought she was die’n. I uh… rushed out there. M’little girl was in trouble.”

Jack paused, chest swelling slow and deflating with a silent breath before continuing.

“I was… too late. I’d seen her. Just for a sec. Saw her there, eyes so wide. The terror. Need for safety. Then she was just… gone. Blink of an e…. The water, it was still splashing like she was there. But she wasn’t. Still heard her scream’n too. Splash’n. Scream’n for me…. But… I just…. She just wasn’t there. Must’ve…” Jack moistened the corner of his mouth with a touch of his tongue. “…a few seconds, maybe. That’s all there was, and the screams were gone too. Water still. So calm. Quiet. Thickness in the air….”

Jack took another pause, long enough for anyone to have considered he’d finished, but he hadn’t. In the same monotone hush, he went on with the story.

Anna came out. Saw me stand’n, stare’n…. She didn’t know. Not at first. She was just confused. She looked at the pool. Me. Took a while to sink in. I uh… not sure what happened the rest of that night….” Jack reach for his beer, stopped, rested his hand back down on his bandaged wound. “Anna didn’t take it well. Not at all…. Each week went by, more depressed she got, till one worn’n - Huh…. It was still dark. First light. Woke up. She wasn’t there. Got out of bed look’n for her. Shower was running but she wasn’t in it. Was a trail of blood leading out. Followed it out back… down the path to the pool…. And there she was. Float’n face down. Exact same spot my little girl disappeared. Water was red. So much blood…. Thought she’d gone and killed herself.”

A dull groan escaped the man as he took another moment….

“I was wrong. Fished her out. Her face was….” The cold breath of a silent sigh left him. “…Her eyes were torn out. Ears torn off. Tongue gone. Teeth. All gone. Deep scratches around those empty sockets. Too uniform to be an animal. Something else…. Her skin was, uh… burnt. All over. Scorched. I couldn’t see if maybe…. No fire around. No smell of burnt flesh. No smoke…. Her body was still warm.” Jack’s voice finally cracked.

Somehow during his speech his hand had made its way to Cam, wrapped over the top of her thigh, gently holding, thumb moving with a slight caress.

“I’m going to kill it.” He cleared his throat, voice remaining dull. “I’m going to get that motherfucker.” He gave Camilla’s thigh a firm, gentle squeeze while his head rolled slowly to the side, dry gaze falling on her. “And I want you to be there when I do. I got a feeling about you, Ca…. I want you to be there with me…. Want you there…. Don’t want you dead.”

Jack had never asked Cam about her past. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested. He just wasn’t one fore asking. It occurred to him as he finished his speech that telling her these things likely didn’t make her feel any better, and in the end she probably didn’t need to know. The reason he shared the experience with her wasn’t clear, not even to Jack. Not like he was one for feeling sorry for himself or seek sympathy from others. That definitely wasn’t it. Yet, one could assume he shared the information as a way to help her understand him better. Maybe it would give her reason not to judge him too harshly when he does stupid shit, while at the same time let her know that, despite his shortcomings, he appreciated her being around. Her presence somehow… made living easier to bear. She was someone in this world he could care for.

Jack kept his now passive eyes on her, listening, seemingly contented by having shared his story, though Camilla’s soft touch had its hand in it as well. Although he didn’t show it with expression, he appreciated her willingness to help as much as she did his sentiments. He enjoyed the moment, including her jest, which resulted in him cracking a smile –

“Bacon and Egg McMuffin not enough, you need dinner as well?” He let the chuckle subside. “Thought my delightful charm would have done the trick.”

When she removed her hand from his, he slipped his hand from her leg, placing it over his other hand resting on his bandaged wound. The moment was savored. With a slight narrowing of his stare, nothing more, he let several moments of silence pass in the wake of her admission before responding:

“Sleep. Hell ain’t going anywhere.”

He rolled his head back, eyes on the ceiling once more, just for a few seconds before his own eyelids weighted shut.

“I know you got my back….” His words softened to a trailing mumble as he drifted off to sleep himself; “Glad you’re here, Camill….”

Bobby was a woman, but by no means a lady. Her initial response to Camilla answering the call was nothing, not a word. When the hunter finished saying her piece, Bobby let out an abrupt mocking laugh, kind of like someone laughing at a clown hurting himself while attempting a stupid trick. The reason for the laughter wouldn’t have been apparent to Camilla right away, since Bobby didn’t explain the laughter at first. Once the laughter cut off, just as abruptly as it started, it was like a whole new speed-induced mood had taken Bobby as she started rattling off information in her rasped voice:

“Yeah, great to meet ya, Cammy – listen up would ya. You’re both fucking wrong. I guess JD didn’t tell ya he called me earlier and gave me the rundown on events. Anyway, I did some research on the house you two dumbasses visited earlier, and apparently you never made it to the backyard. Had you done that you would’ve seen a damned pool. So you might wanna check out the pool the next time you go out there. That pool is where a kid named Greg was last seen before disappearing over a month ago – and I should probably add right now that the kid went missing one day after Dolson arrived in town. And let me tell ya another thing, hun - this isn’t the first time this shit has happened; but I’m betting old JD didn’t tell ya that either, being that he’s all so very talkative. Am I right or am I right? Of course I’m fucking right, I’m always fucking right.

So, hun, here’s the deal. Every now and then a kid goes missing from a pool or shower or bath or some other fucking place that’s wet. The last five times it happened was when our dear friend Jacko had only just arrived in that town or city. Coincidence? I think fucking not. JD knows about the previous instances, but I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that either. Anyway, long story short, hun. After a little investigating I’ve come up with a theory that what you met at that house today was some type of mimic entity. It called Jack because it knows about Jack’s daughter and wanted to draw his attention to the fact that some boy got taken from the pool there. In this case I’m guessing the woman you saw was a representation of the boys mother who also drowned in that pool a week or so after her son was taken. Sound familiar, hun, or did Jack not tell ya about his daughter and wife either? As for the smell you mentioned, that’s an easy one; a lot of different mimics can emit the smell of demons or anything else they damn well please in an effort to confuse their subject. So don’t pay any attention to the sulfur bullshit in this case. To be fucking honest, I’m still not sure if this mimic is responsible for the disappearance of these kids or if it’s only acquainted with the entity that is. But Mimics are nosy turds so I'm not surprised if one of those dress-up fuckers got involved. Chances are the entity responsible is some type of fucking water wraith. Good luck with finding all that shit out.

So here’s what I’m gonna do, Cammy, I’m gonna hang up now and let you scream at JD for a while. I’m also gonna go ahead and message you a bunch of links of news clipping about the kids that have gone missing soon after Dolson had arrived in those town. Should provide you guys with some more details about the events.”

There was a quick pause before Bobby spoke up again to explain her earlier outburst of laughter –

“Ah, and one last thing. If you’re awake, so is Jack, princess. That bastard couldn’t sleep through an ants fart. Save my number to your own phone and keep in touch. Bobby likes the sound of ya. Later.”

Bobby had another quick laugh and ended the call, but not before Jack opened one eye to glare at the phone, muttering the words, “Fuck you, Bobby.”

Jack pushes up on one elbow, regarding Cam with a small grin of narrow, sleepy eyes.

“I see you met Bobby…. Wonderful, ain’t she?”

He sits up on the bed next to Camilla, feet on the floor, and takes a drink of the now warm beer on the bedside table.

A few minutes later Jack’s phone receives a message from Bobby with a list of links to the information she had mentioned. Each case shared the same theme of a child between the ages of 8 and 12 going missing, both male and female. No trace or leads have been found by police in any of the instances. It was like each of the kids just vanished from the face of the Earth. In most cases, the children had been taken from a private pool in the backyard of their homes, while one was taken from a shower and another from a bath. In all these cases, the mother of the missing child had supposedly committed suicide, or had been savagely murdered in the pool or bathroom their child had gone missing from a week or two after the child's disappearance. As Bobby had mentioned, each one of these children were taken within a week after Jack had arrived in the respective town. In the previous town, Jack had been named as a suspect to the murder of the mother and disappearance of her child, though no charges were laid on account of no solid evidence. One other thing these cases had in common is that each of these children were an only child in the family and - the only details that didn't match with what happened to Jack's family two years ago - they had a father who had previously passed away. Their mother was their only guardian at the time they were taken.